


In the shadows, secrets grow

by toomuchchampagne



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Abusive Relationships, All the Starks are alive, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Cousin Incest, Dysfunctional Family, F/M, Family Secrets, Fluff and Angst, Less than canon-typical violence, Underage Drinking, misogynist assholes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-13
Updated: 2017-10-25
Packaged: 2018-05-20 03:33:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 9
Words: 15,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5990404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toomuchchampagne/pseuds/toomuchchampagne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sansa overhears her parents fighting about a mystery woman. She investigates what she thinks is an affair which leads to her uncovering a series of family secrets and meeting Jon Snow. As her world unravels, she gets dangerously closer to Jon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Out of the 14 chapters, 11 are fully written. They just need some light editing and proof-reading. I'll try and post twice or once a week.
> 
> Most of the Jon/Sansa shippers ship NOT RELATED Jon/Sansa. I, on the other hand, ship "probably cousins because R+L=J" Jon/Sansa. Yes, I am going to hell. What can I say? Even in modern AUs I like to respect canon :P

From the outside, the house looks like any other in the Kingslanding suburbs, but she knows the ugliness that lurks inside. Sansa is ready, cold and regal. She will have justice, she will make it stop.

She knocks on the door with all the might of her sixteen-year-old fury, fuelled by weeks of overheard conversations and tears, and snooping around and spying. She’s filled with hate and resentment, ready to destroy _that woman_ and her marriage the way _that woman_ is destroying Sansa’s family.

But when the door opens, all of her poised and unyielding composure crumbles. Because it’s not that woman who opens—she has learned her name is Joy—or her stupid husband, no. It’s just a kid, about Sansa’s age or older. He stares and gapes at her, and she realizes what a crazy sight she must be.

She’s dressed to kill and her makeup matches, perched on her lucky Louboutins he has to look up at her, red hair is flying everywhere and there is no hiding the redness of her eyes.

But the vision that faces her is even crazier. In the last week, she has pictured this exact moment a thousand times but never had she considered that the woman destroying her family, hurting her mother, could have a child of her own.

This changes everything.

“I’m sorry, I think I have the wrong house.”

But before she has time to turn around and run back to her car, something about him catches her attention and her world is shattered once again. These grey eyes, this long face, the dark hair—

She stumbles. He catches her.

“I think I’m going to be sick,” she says and he urges her inside and into the closest restroom where she pathetically empties the content of her stomach.

He holds back her hair for her. She really wants to hate him but after that she can’t.

Just like she wanted to hate her father since she first heard him and her mother arguing over unexplained absences and missing money. She never could hate her father though. Instead, she focused all her rage and resentment on these three letters. Joy. That woman, her mother calls her.

Sansa didn’t understand at first. Didn’t want to. But when she looks at this stranger’s face and sees her father looking right back at her, it all makes sense.

“Are you alright?” he asks, when she’s done puking her feelings away.

She nods. She’s not alright though, she’s kneeling on the cold tile-floor of somebody else’s bathroom.

“I’ll get you a glass of water,” he offers before wandering off.

She takes advantage of the minute alone it gives her to regain her composure. She rinses her mouth in the sink and checks her reflection. Her eyes are redder and her hair messier but strangely enough she looks the same. As if her world hasn’t been shattered twice in the last ten minutes. She studies her face carefully, looking for similarities—but finding none—with Him.

This guy, this boy, this man. Her brother. Her bastard half-brother. He’s nice. Nice to her, the crazy stranger who showed up on his doorsteps. She doesn’t even know his name, she realizes.

“Hey,” he says. “Oh, you’re up. That’s good. Here, drink this.”

He rubs at his neck nervously, and blushes when their fingers touch as he hands her the glass. Which makes no sense, since she’s the one who just puked in front of him and barged into his house. She’s the one who ought to be ashamed.

“Thank you,” she says, recalling her manners. “That’s very kind of you.”

She drinks the whole thing down in a gulp, while he stares at her awkwardly, shifting from one foot to the other. Maybe he’s just one of these boys uncomfortable around girls. It’s cute, she thinks. It’s fine, we’re related, she wants to tell him. But she holds her tongue and smiles.

“What’s your name?” she asks in her most polite voice.

“Jon.”

Jon. She has a brother named Jon. This is all so absurd, she wants to burst out laughing but she doubts it will help her salvage this disastrous first impression, so she just smiles kindly—a perfect and practiced smile.

“I’m Sansa. It’s nice to meet you, Jon. I’m really sorry for all this.”

“It’s fine,” he says, messing up his hair. “I’m not sure what just happened to be honest. I just hope you’re alright. Do you want me to call someone or something?”

“I’m fine. Thank you for everything. It just seems like someone played a rather cruel and twisted joke on me,” she says. And by someone, she means the Universe.

He’s confused but doesn’t question her explanation.

“Is anyone else here?” she asks, suddenly afraid to run into the person she came here to confront in the first place.

“No,” he says.

“Thank God,” she sighs in relief. It makes him blush again, she’s not sure why. “I mean, I would hate for someone else to have witnessed what just happened. It’s bad enough as it is. I generally make a better first impression, I swear,” she tries to joke.

“I’m not good at first impressions,” he replies, “but it’s the first time I literally make a girl throw up. I didn’t know I looked that bad.”

Even under the attempt at self-deprecating humour, she can hear the bile rising.

She frowns. “You don’t look bad.”

It’s true. He’s good-looking, even handsome, although his face is too long to be conventionally attractive and his hair is a mess of wild curls. He’s not tall either, he’s shorter than she is with her heels on but not by much and she is quite tall for a girl. But his eyes are soft and beautiful, a very nice shade of dark grey, and his lips are pillowy and prettier than hers, and his face has the symmetry of a marble statue.

His clothes are scruffy and he’s got a bit of a hipster vibe going on that isn’t usually her style, but it looks good on him. And under his ratty black T-shirt Sansa can clearly notice his well-defined muscles. He doesn’t look like Rob at all, she thinks. And even more importantly, looking at him now, he doesn’t feel like her brother at all—half or not.

Her appraisal is making him blush again. “It was—never mind, thank you.”

He messes with his hair nervously again. She gets a feeling that it’s a habit. It makes her want to stick around and find out. Find out everything she can about him.

He doesn’t feel like Robb or Bran or Rickon or Arya. He doesn’t feel like anyone she knows. They could never be siblings anyway. But maybe they can be friends.

She doesn’t want to leave just yet.

“Would you mind if I stayed here just for a little bit? I don’t feel up to driving just yet.”

There’s a mix of worry and relief in his eyes, and it makes her think that maybe he doesn’t want her to leave either. Maybe he can feel this connection too, even though he doesn’t know about it like she does.

“Sure. Do you want to sit down for a bit?”

And just like that, they’re sharing the couch in the living-room, with the TV turned on to alleviate the awkwardness. It feels incredibly weird.

“You’re sure you don’t want to call someone?”

“It’s fine. I just need to rest a little. I don’t want to worry anyone.”

“What about your parents?”

“They’re working. I wouldn’t want to worry them anyway. What about your parents?”

“They’re out of town.”

“For how long?”

“A week, maybe longer. Why? Are you planning on robbing me?”

“Wait, how old are you?” she asks, because something isn’t adding up here. Who leaves a sixteen years old boy alone for a week? Not someone her responsible father would have extra-marital sex with, that’s for sure. And even if he did, there’s no way he would leave one of his kids, even a bastard one, to be raised like this.

“Nineteen.”

“Oh. I thought you were my age.”

But now it’s the math that doesn’t add up. Nineteen makes him a year younger than Robb. That’s back when her father was deployed. No contact, no permission. How could he be her father’s child? Maybe this Joy woman was in the army with him?

“Well, how old are you?” he asks.

“Sixteen. I’ll be seventeen in a month.”

“Oh,” he says. “You look older.”

She doesn’t. She’s just really good at make-up, but she doesn’t tell him that. She doesn’t say anything really, because a picture on the coffee table catches her attention.

“Who’s this?” she asks, but what she really wants to say is why do you have a picture of my dead aunt Lyanna in your living-room?

“That’s my mom,” Jon says.

Her hands are shaking, she folds them neatly in her lap to hide the tremors and plasters a fake smile on her lips before continuing.

“She’s beautiful. You two look a lot alike. Are you two close?”

“I guess,” he says with a shrug.

She stares at the picture and tries to process all this new information. She can’t believe it. The story of how Lyanna Stark died giving birth to a married man’s bastard child has been giving her nightmares since she was eight. She needs confirmation.

“What’s her name?”

“What is this, twenty questions?” he replies defensively.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I didn’t mean to be rude.”

He sighs. “It’s fine. I’m sorry, it’s just—Her name is Joy. Jon and Joy, it’s pretty stupid, right?”

“No,” she says.

What’s pretty stupid is letting your wife and daughter believe that you’re a cheating asshole when really you’ve been visiting your presumed dead sister and helping her out financially. Because seriously, why would anyone do that? It doesn’t make sense.

There has to be something else to it.

“Are you alright?” Jon asks.

She shifts her attention back to him and smiles. “I’m fine. Actually, I feel much better now. I think I should probably go home.” She gets up, grabs the bag she has dropped in the corridor and makes her way to the door. Jon walks with her.

“Sansa,” he says and there’s something in the way he says her name. She’s the one who blushes this time. “Are you sure?”

“It’s fine, I’ll see you around.”

She gives her long lost cousin a kiss on the cheek before walking back to her car as fast as she can while remaining dignified in her Louboutins.

 


	2. Chapter 2

She knows it’s her father’s secret, but it feels like hers now. So she keeps it this way, a secret.

Maybe she should tell her mother, so she would stop hurting, maybe she should confront her father and demand an explanation. Maybe she should inform her brothers and sisters. But for now it’s her secret and it feels good. She doesn’t want to share Jon with anyone else.

She lasts two days before going back to his house and showing up on his door step like a crazy person. Again.

He’s surprised, but not in a bad way.

“Hey,” he says.

“Hey. Is it weird for me to show up here again?”

He laughs. “Kind of, yeah.”

When he laughs, he doesn’t look like her father at all. He’s beautiful.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought too. But then, and you probably have already noticed that, I’m having a really really weird week. And you said you were alone, so I figured I would drop by. Are you busy?”

“No.”

“Can I come in? I promise I won’t throw up this time.”

“Sure,” he says and opens the door wider to let her in.

She’s wearing ballet flat this time which makes her slightly smaller than him, but there is the same decisive and elegant quality to her stride as she makes her way to the couch.

“I brought you something,” she says. “To thank you.”

“You didn’t have to.”

“Well, I wanted to. Besides, it’s nothing.”

She takes a little craft bag out of her purse and inside he finds still warms cookies.

“Did you, like, bake them yourself or something?”

“Yes. So you better eat them.”

He smiles, before taking a bite.

“So?” she asks. He answers her with a noise of delight that sends shivers down her spine.

He licks his lips and she can’t look away. “Delicious,” he says.

It’s innocuous. It’s just cookies for god’s sake. But there is something here. Something in his eyes, in his voice, something she reacts to instinctively.

It scares her. Suddenly she’s afraid that she’s been keeping this secret for all the wrong reasons. But she can’t very well tell him that now, can she?

///

He’s not sure why she came back, but he’s glad she did. She’s even more beautiful now that she is feeling well. But he can’t really let himself think about that, she’s only sixteen. It’s hard to concentrate on that tiny detail though, especially when she’s so pretty and warm and close, and she even brought him homemade cookies.

What is she doing here with him? She looks way too pretty and way too wealthy to be hanging out here alone with him. And it’s more than that. It’s startling how much she looks like his deepest fantasy (even more than Ygritte did). He’s not sure whether he did something good or something really bad to deserve to have the underage incarnation of his dream girl show up uninvited on his doorstep twice in a week.

“So do you want to talk about it?” he asks after his second cookie. “Your weird week, I mean.”

She seems hesitant at first. Shy even, which makes no sense coming from someone who has invited themselves into his home twice already so confidently.

“Alright. But you’re going to think I’m silly, if I tell you.”

“I doubt that,” he replies honestly.

“We’ll see. Well, where do I start? I always thought that my parents had the perfect marriage, that they were the fairy tale ending, the happily ever after. I know, it was incredibly naïve of me, right?”

“It’s not. There’s nothing wrong with wanting to believe the best of the people you love.”

“Maybe. But it doesn’t change the fact that I was wrong. I found out my dad is a liar, who has been keeping secrets from her, from all of us, for years now.”

“That’s got to hurt,” he says, remembering a similar situation.

“It did. But it’s only the beginning of my week. My boyfriend broke up with me.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. Actually I’ve been looking for a way out of this relationship for months. He’s kind of an asshole. But things are complicated.”

“How so?”

She tilts her head. “Please, you don’t want to listen to my high school drama.”

He smiles. “I’m not big on high school, or drama. But you look like you need someone to talk to, so I don’t mind.”

She stares, eyes focused on his, until she seems to find what she was looking for.

“It’s just that this guy, Joff, our fathers were best friends and business partners. We go to the same school, we have the same friends, we’re both in drama club, we’re going to the same University, and our families have dinner together at least once a week. It doesn’t matter if I break up with him or not, I’ll still see him every day. And if I break up with him, he’ll resent me for the rest of my life. Like I said, he’s kind of an asshole. He has always been a bit of a jerk, but since his father died it’s gotten worse.”

“That does sound complicated.”

“There’s a lot of advantages to being Joffrey’s friend. But there is a lot more of disadvantages to being his enemy,” she says and it sounds word for word like something his mom said to him a long time ago.

“So, you’re still friends with him?” he asks. He doesn’t like the idea of Sansa and this guy, as friends or as more.

“It seems so. It’s a bit surreal. He broke up with me to date one of my best friends, Margaery. She apologized and was very nice about the whole thing. I think she just wanted to enjoy the perks that come with dating Joffrey, and I can’t really blame her for that.”

This doesn’t sound like high school drama to Jon. He thinks maybe they just went to very different schools. And while that might be true, there’s something else. A world-weariness, a melancholy handled with a grace and poise that’s more becoming of a lady than of a teenager.

He thinks he has finally found the word for Sansa: ladylike.

“So, what about you?” she asks.

“What?” he asks, stupidly, too lost in his appraisal of her to understand the question.

“What is it you do, Jon Snow?”

He licks his lips nervously, and he doesn’t miss the way her gaze follows the movement. She won’t be so interested when she finds out.

“I’m in the army. Or, I was, I guess. They sent me home after I hurt my leg in combat.”

He’s nothing, a nobody with no future, while hers is still ahead of her and as bright as her blue eyes.

She moves closer to him on the couch, puts her hand close to his. He can feel her heat but they’re not really touching. “I’m so sorry Jon,” she says, and because he doesn’t want to see the pity in her eyes, he stares at their hands. So close, but there’s a bridged that can never be crossed.

He wants to say something but he can’t find any words. Once again, she takes the lead.

“My father was in the army. Still works for them, in a way. I didn’t know him before, but I know that what he saw and what he did while he was deployed, it changed him.”

She takes his hand. The shock of her soft skin against his calloused fingers burns, but he only holds her hand closer.

“Were any of your relatives in the army too?” she asks.

“My dad was.”

“Is that why you joined?”

He asked himself this question a thousand times, but it’s the first time someone else asks him.

“Not really.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asks. Her voice is honey and warmth and everything good and there is no way he is going to share the horror and coldness of war with her.

“Not really.”

“Is your unit still deployed?”

“Yes. They come home at the end of the month.”

“You miss them?”

“They’re my brothers,” he replies mechanically.

“That must be lonely,” she muses. When he doesn’t answer, she moves impossibly closer to him, until they’re virtually hugging.

I don’t want your pity, he almost says. But it would be a lie, and it doesn’t feel like pity. Whatever it is, he can’t deny how badly he wants it. He opens his arms to her and welcomes her embrace.

She smells good—everything about her is enticing, it seems. Her red hair brushes against his cheek, and teases the hand he puts on the small of her back. She nestles her head against his neck and rubs small circle on his shoulder with her dainty fingers. It feels good. And it must be the same for her, because he can feel her breathe him in, her hands tightening around the muscles of his arms.

There is a shift in the energy, and suddenly all his body is aware of is her tantalizing smell and her breasts brushing against his chest with every breath she takes. She’s almost in his lap; in one move she could be straddling him and—

“Before—Jon, I need to…”

She seems to realize something has changed—maybe she feels it too, maybe she wants it too—because she looks up and speaks. She’s trying to tell him something, her eyes are pleading, and she says something that starts with Jon, but he’ll never know how it ends because he swallows the rest of her words with a kiss.

It’s not tender and tentative like the ones he shared with Ygritte.

His lips have barely left hers and she’s already all the way across the room. She’s standing and pacing and talking to herself. Her usual poise is completely gone.

“I’m sorry,” he tries to say, but she doesn’t seem to be listening.

“This was a terrible idea. This is wrong on so many levels, I can’t even—oh god, can we agree to never tell anyone about this?”

“What? Why would I—“

“Just--promise me,” she insists.

“OK. I promise.”

She seems a little bit relieved but still extremely agitated. “Thank you,” she says, her pacing finally coming to a standstill.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats.

“Don’t be. I’m the one who’s sorry. I’m the one who ought to apologize. I shouldn’t have come. What was I thinking?”

“I’m older than you, I shouldn’t have done that. None of this is your fault.”

“Yes, but you didn’t know,” she replies, frantic.

“I know you’re sixteen,” he says, and that makes her stop and think.

“Right. Yes. It still my fault. I can’t believe I led you on like that.”

Before he has time to protest her eyes fall on his lips once more, and he can feel the air between them charging with tension yet again. She turns abruptly, breaking the contact.

“I should go, before—I should go.”

He nods enthusiastically and escorts her to the door while maintaining a sensible distance between them. It’s an awkward affair. And it’s made even worse by the certitude gnawing at the back of his head that, this time, when he walks, she can see the slight limp in his gait.

“I’m sorry, Jon,” she whispers once more before disappearing into the night.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Jon, he has no idea.  
> And Sanse, maybe she shouldn't have done that but she's a HUGGER, you guys! She still tries to hug Arya on a weekly basis despite being shoved away every time. Can you blame her for giving sad and lonely Jon Snow a hug?
> 
> Next chapter we finally leave Jon's house and meet some new characters :)


	3. Chapter 3

Jon’s unit is back and, he’s not sure how it happens, but somehow he finds himself celebrating their safe return by spending his Friday night with them in one of the most expensive clubs in Kingslanding. The place, pretentiously called the Throne, is way too crowded and the drinks overpriced but surprisingly he’s having fun.

He’s already quite drunk when he spots her familiar red hair and delicious silhouette. He stares as she dances with some preppy looking guy, and she must feel the weight of his gaze because it’s not long before she turns to meet his eyes.

To his surprise she smiles and waves, before rushing over to his side.

He has spent so much time thinking about her over the last few weeks. He shouldn’t, really, they only met twice. Yet she’s been haunting him. There’s something about her. Maybe it’s the mystery, the sheer bizarreness of their two encounters. He’s tried so hard to figure it out, to understand what in the world sent this beautiful girl knocking on his front door that fateful day.

The way she catapulted herself into his life, the intimate and dreamlike atmosphere of their time together—the two of them alone in his house, the way he was holding her hair before he even knew her name, the taste of homemade cookies—it all serves to intensify the short time they shared and make it unforgettable.

“Jon,” Sansa exclaims, before engulfing him in a big hug. The dress doesn’t cover much and he’s not sure where to put his hands. Her shoulders are naked, and her waist…

“What are you doing here?” he asks her, to distract himself of the feeling of her body pressed against his. “I thought you were only sixteen?”

“Not anymore! I’m celebrating my seventeenth birthday tonight!”

She’s happy and drunk, just like him, so he doesn’t point out that, technically, she’s still underage.

There’s a tap on his shoulders and he turns around to face Sam, Pyp and Grenn all grinning like fools. They’re the one who dragged him here tonight despite all his lame excuses.

“Who’s your friend?” Pyp screams to be heard over the loud music.

He’s not sure what to say, thankfully she takes the lead, turning around without leaving his embrace. “Hi. I’m Sansa. Are you Jon’s friends?”

They introduce themselves, flirting and ogling her (Sam blushes a lot) and Jon would almost be mad, even though he has no rights to, but it only makes her laugh melodically, and it’s hard to be mad when she’s smiling like that.

“Are you a model?”

She laughs again, and he can feel it resonate where their bodies touch.

“Are those guys bothering you?”

A skinny blond kid, wearing an obnoxious red and gold leather jacket is standing there, eyeing them disdainfully. He’s flanked by an incredibly tall and burly man, with his face hidden behind his hair. When he looks closer, Jon can see scars. Sansa ignores the tall man and turns with a smile toward the contemptuous blond.

“Joffrey, thank you for looking out for me but I’m fine. No need to worry.”

The name is familiar, Jon recalls, her ex-boyfriend. He can feel his arm tighten around Sansa in a protective claim before he has time to think better of it.

“You looked quite inebriated. Of course I worried when I couldn’t find you with the others.”

She giggles and steps out of Jon’s embrace to get closer to Joffrey. “Always so chivalrous! You will always be my hero, won’t you? But truly, there is no need to worry, my brave knight, I have only ran into an old friend.”

She is quite inebriated, but Jon recognizes this for what it is, a show meant to pacify the little blond bastard. And it works, Jon can see him puffing up under the attention of Sansa. If the tall man’s jaded stare is anything to go by, this is a familiar scene.

“I’m glad to hear it Sansa. But please, don’t do this again, you know how your parents trust me with your safety.”

There is an undercurrent of threat here that Jon doesn’t miss, but Sansa smile a perfect polished smile.

“I won’t. But where are my manners, let me introduce you. Everyone, this is Joffrey Baratheon.”

Jon can see by the way she emphasized that last name that it’s one he should recognize, but it doesn’t ring any bells. He nods a respectful, manly salute nonetheless. The skinny blond is all puffed up with pride. She doesn’t introduce the other man, he just stands there and glares, so Jon assumes he’s some sort of body guard.

“Joffrey, this is my—This is Jon, my old friend. And those are his friends.”

Joffrey doesn’t respond, doesn’t acknowledge them just stares rudely.

“Can I invite them to our table?” Sansa asks softly.

Joffrey’s cold green eyes observe them with the same contempt that doesn’t seem to ever leave him.

“Sure,” he says finally. “You’re the birthday girl after all. And at least there I’ll be able to keep an eye on you.”

Joffrey links his arm forcefully with Sansa’s and walks back toward where Jon first spotted the redhead. It’s some sort of VIP area, he realizes. Joffrey just nods and the bouncer lets them all pass. As he walks in, Jon can see he’s out of his depth. The clothes these people are wearing are so expensive he feels he ought to take on a loan just to look at them. Champagne bottles pile on the tables and he cringes remembering how he swore when he had to spend a twenty on a single drink.

He needs to leave, but Sansa is at his side, finally free from the clutch of the blond.

“Sansa, this is—“ he starts, not sure how to explain.

“Joff’s family owns the place,” she clarifies, as if sensing his thoughts. “We’re not paying for anything here. It’s fine.”

Somehow this makes it worse. Now he understand Joffrey’s entitled bratty attitude better.

“I thought you guys broke up,” he says.

“We did. We still are, broken up. He’s dating Margaery here,” she nods toward a pretty brunette, “but we’re still friends, and we had planned this party together months ago.”

Jon doesn’t like it. Joffrey wasn’t acting like a friend earlier. But he has no right to say anything, so he keeps his mouth shut.

“So, what do you think?” Sansa asks his brothers in arms.

“It’s pretty fucking sweet, that’s what I think!” Pyp exclaims, the others nod enthusiastically.

“Then welcome to my birthday party! Come on,” she says, taking Jon’s hand, “Let’s celebrate.”

And then they’re toasting to her, and she’s laughing and beautiful and their eyes are always meeting and somehow she’s always close to him and more than once his arm finds its way around her shoulders. But then someone calls her and she excuses herself with a smile before joining a man who has to be a male model onto the dance floor.

By that time his friends are almost as mesmerized by her as he is. They all laugh and tease him.

“Damn, you really have a type, don’t you?” Sam says, he’s the only one who knows about Ygritte.

“Shut up,” he answers wittily.

“How did you even meet a girl like that?” Pyp asks, in awe.

“It’s a long story,” Jon says, even though it’s not long, just weird and he doesn’t feel like sharing it tonight.

“Well, while you’re busy playing hard to get, Grenn and I will go and do our best to hook up with one of her model friends, Right?”

“Right,” Grenn answers. “Let’s not waste an occasion like this one.”

They finish their drinks before both fading into the dancing crowd.

Jon never danced before his injury but the view of Sansa’s body undulating to the music is enough to make him regret it, now it’s too late though. Despite the distance, the loud music and the grinding bodies between them, every once in a while she looks up at him and their eyes meet.

Most of her other friends are nice. He stays at the table and drinks and talks with them and Sam.

At one point while Sansa’s on the dance floor with her friends, Joffrey takes him aside.

“There’s something you should know about Sansa,” the little brat whispers to him in a petulant voice.

“What is that?”

“You’re not allowed to fuck her.”

Jon almost chokes at the cruel and rude choice of words. “We’re just friends.”

“Yeah, right. Old friends, my ass. I know every single one of Sansa’s friends, and you’re not one of them.”

Despite all the repulsiveness he inspires him, Jon can’t really find any fault in this last statement.

He doesn’t have time to respond, as Sansa chooses this moment to come back to their table, hand in hand with a brunette he believes to be Margaery. His supposition is confirmed when the girl casually settles herself on Joffrey’s lap. Sansa must take it as a cue, because she follows her friend’s lead and sits on Jon’s lap.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers in his ear. “This must be dreadfully boring for you, I know you can’t dance.”

“It’s fine. Your friends are nice. Most of them at least. I have Sam with me. And the view isn’t half bad.”

She blushes at the last remark. “Jon, there’s something I need to tell you,” she says without meeting his eyes.

He frowns. This is familiar. Didn’t she say something like that last time too?

“I should have told you last time but, after what happened, I just couldn’t.”

A feeling of unease fills him suddenly. “What is it?”

“I can’t tell you here. Not now.”

“Then let’s go somewhere else.” He needs to know. If Sansa has something to tell him, he needs to hear it now, before he gets even more entranced by her. He’s not sure where this restless, desperate feeling came from but it’s here. And he knows it won’t go away until she tells him whatever it is she has to say.

Since the beginning he’s kept his questions to himself and never pressured her for answers. The mystery added to her mystique. But now he’s starting to fear that what hides behind her smiles is more sinister than what he originally imagined. Is it drugs? Was she high when she appeared disoriented at his door? That would explain her being sick. She’s a rich kid and obviously knows how to enjoy a party. Yet it doesn’t fit.

She blinks. “I can’t leave. It’s my party.”

“Then tell me now.”

She squirms. “That wouldn’t be a good idea.”

“Is it that bad?”

She looks up at him, surprised. “It’s not bad,” she says, but even in the club’s relative darkness he can see her wince at the lie. “Well, it doesn’t have to be.”

He sighs. “Please, just tell me.”

He must look pretty desperate because she caves in. “Ok,” she says. “Let me talk to Margaery and I’ll meet you outside.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know nothing, Jon Snow.
> 
>  
> 
> I meant to post this weekend but I've been a bit overwhelmed with exams and deadlines.  
> Thanks for all of your lovely comment, you're really making my day and helping me deal with RL stress.  
> I'll try and post more regualry once I'm done with the exams, so far I'll just try to post twice a week but not sure which days I'll be able to do so. Anyway I hope you like this chapter :)


	4. Chapter 4

Despite the weirdness of it all, Margaery is a good friend. When Sansa asks her to distract Joffrey for the rest of the night, the brunette winks and instructs her to have fun. As she leaves, she can see the other girl grinding on her ex-boyfriend, who does look very distracted indeed.

But not everyone’s attention is so easily diverted. Before Sansa can set a foot outside, Sandor Clegane stops her.

“Where do you think you’re going, little bird?” he asks in that rough menacing voice of his. But he doesn’t scare Sansa anymore, hasn’t for a long time.

“I just want to get away from Joff for a moment. I’m going across the street for a milkshake with my friend. You can follow me if you want to.”

And he does follow her as she heads to the diner on the other side of the street. It’s old but the place has character. Plus Sansa is pretty sure that it’s the only place on this street not owned by the Lannisters.

“You should go now, before he notices,” she tells Sandor once they’re inside.

He glares at her for a bit, then leaves.

“Who is this guy?” Jon asks, befuddled.

“Sandor Clegane. I’m still not sure if he’s Joffrey’s bodyguard or his babysitter, and I’ve known him since I was eleven. He’s pretty scary looking but he’s a nice guy, harmless. He can get a bit protective though.”

“Of you?”

She shrugs. “Do you want something to drink? I think I’ll have a milkshake.”

He doesn’t really care about that, but he orders a cup of coffee and gives her a little time to sober up before asking again.

“Now, tell me.”

Her time is up. The smiles they exchanged, his arm around her, the sound of his voice playing on a loop in the dark corners of her mind, the memories of this kiss—it will all be taken away from her now. The sense of possibility will be gone, forever replaced by something tainted and dirty. Guilty. That what she is. Now she needs to confess.

“When I came to your house, that first time, it wasn’t an accident.”

He can feel his stomach twist. Somehow he knew this, knew from the beginning. It didn’t feel like an accident. It felt like fate, the cruel kind.

“Then why?” he asks, he has to know even though part of him doesn’t want to.

“Jon, I think you’re my cousin.”

“You think? That doesn’t make sense.”

He tries to think, to make sense of it, but his thoughts and his emotions are too entangled.

“Remember what I told you about my parents? I thought my father was having an affair. He’s been giving money to a woman named Joy, and visiting her. My mom found out about it and I overheard them arguing about this woman. So I snooped around, found this address—your address—and I went there.”

“Why?”

“To tell her to stop. To stay away from my dad. Anyway, it was stupid, and I was completely wrong. But then I saw you and, well you looked familiar.”

Horror strikes him and suddenly everything is clear.

“Is that why you threw up?”

“You look a lot like my father and sister. For a second I thought you were his.”

Jon feels like he’s the one who’s going to throw up now.

“But I was wrong,” she continues. “You also look a lot like your mother, who just happens to be my dead aunt Lyanna.”

“Lyanna? Wait. The picture,” he mutters and she nods.

He stares at her, without being able to say anything despite the thousands of questions running through his head. All that he can say is this word again, Lyanna, it tastes foreign on his tongue and sounds like a question.

“It could all just be a crazy coincidence. But I really doubt it.”

“But why would they have lied?”

He remembers his childhood of moving around, never staying in one place, his mother dying her hair. “Don’t talk to strangers, Jon. Don’t believe their lies,” she used to say, always looking over her shoulder. But this all stopped two years ago, when they came to live here.

“I don’t know,” Sansa says. “But I know my father, and there must be a good reason.”

He laughs. Maybe it’s a nervous reaction, but it’s all so stupid and insane and he can’t stop.

“The man you believed was cheating on your mother, the one lying to you and your mother and your whole family, he has a good reason? Just like you had such a good reason to lie to me?” Jon says. His laughter isn’t nervous anymore, it’s cruel.

She doesn’t reply. She looks small and breakable for the first time.

“That’s what I thought,” he says.

“Jon, I’m sorry. I never meant to lie to you.”

“Then why didn’t you tell me before?”

She blushes and avoids his eyes. “You must understand that I wasn’t sure at first. I was just really confused, like you are now. I didn’t know what to believe and who to trust. After—after the last time, I dug around to find all I could about Lyanna. Old pictures, news articles, anything.”

“And?”

“She’s not dead. I don’t know why they lied about it, but they did. And there’s no doubt for me that Lyanna and Joy are the same woman.”

“She always told me she was an only child, and that her parents were dead.”

“Well, if it’s true, your grandparents are alive. You’re a Stark, Jon.”

“Do you have any proof?”

“Well, I have pictures and family albums at home—Wait, I took pictures with my phone of those I found at my grandparents’ house.”

She digs into her purse, and when he’s finally presented with a picture of Lyanna Stark and her family, he can’t deny the truth staring back at him.

“I need some air,” he says, dropping her phone on the table.

She says something but he doesn’t hear it, he just makes his way to the door. He feels like he’s burning up and everything he knows is melting away. And then, in the middle of it all, there is Sansa and her fiery red hair. He needs some fresh air to cool down, but the Kingslanding night is too warm to really help. He sits down on the pavement and tries to breathe.

Lyanna. His mother.

Sansa. His cousin.

It doesn’t make sense. And yet it’s true. It’s the kind of truth that burns the world to the ground and leaves only ashes behind.

He looks back at the dinner, and spots Sansa through the window. She’s slumped in her seats and her hands are covering her face. His world might be ashes, and she might not be who she seemed, but she’s still here. And she’s the first person who told him the truth. He has been thinking about her every day since they met. He couldn’t sleep because of her. After today, he suspects she’ll haunt his nights in a completely different way.

Don’t shoot the messenger, that’s what they say, right?

When he walks back into the dinner, she looks up at him cautiously, her eyes red. He sits across from her silently, her forgotten milkshake between them, and he can feel her relief.

“Tell me everything you know,” he pleads.

So she does. She tells him how his mother grew up in one of the wealthiest family in Westeros, how Lyanna and Ned were really close growing up and how much she liked horse riding and fencing. None of this seems real. It sounds like another life, led by someone else rather than the woman he knows as Joy Snow, his mother.

Then she tells him the story. How young Lyanna fell in with a bad crowd, how she grew rebellious and started to reject her family and the gradual but inevitable downfall that followed. She started an affair with a married man and got pregnant, she ran away with him, left the country. A couple of months later they got a phone call from the man, telling them that she had died in labour, and that the child hadn’t survived her.

“Do you think she lied? That she faked her own death?”

It sounds so over-the-top and dramatic. His mother is an impulsive and passionate woman, but she wouldn’t do something like that just to escape a family feud.

“Honestly, I’m not sure. My family can be really old-fashioned at times. I wouldn’t put it past my grandfather to disown her and make up some cautionary tale about her tragic death just because she got pregnant. But it doesn’t make sense for my Dad to lie about it too.”

“Are they religious?” It’s weird to hear about this other family, so different from his own. The very last thing you could call his mother is old-fashioned.

“You could say that. They’re very traditional people, with strong values. My father is the most honest and honourable man you could ever meet. That’s why this whole thing makes no sense to me. He was so affected by his sister’s death. He used to talk about her a lot. I don’t think he knew she was alive, not until recently. He was deployed when it all happened so it could make sense.”

“We moved around a lot, until two years ago, when we settled here.”

“What did she tell you about her life?”

Glimpses of memories come back to him, all happy childhood memories now tainted with lies and it makes him want to hurl.

“Not much. She doesn’t like to talk about it, on account of her parents being fake-dead and all.”

“I’m sorry, Jon,” she says, and it’s the same honey-sweet voice she used when she found out about his injury, the one that promises she’ll make everything better if he just lets her. But there’s no making this better, and his words are laced with acid and bitterness when he answers.

“What are you sorry for? Being the one to tell me, or not telling me sooner? You know, before I—before you tricked me into--“

The words die in his throat, and he does his best to swallow them down, but it’s too late. Images of Sansa in his arms, the feeling of her lips against his, the desires he had are back, and they’re hard to ignore.

“For both. Jon, I’m sorry for everything. But this doesn’t have to be a bad thing.”

“How?”

“You have this new family you get to meet. My dad, I’m sure he would love you.”

Jon doubts that strongly after all the sinful thoughts he had about the man’s daughter. His own cousin.

“And so would Robb, my older brother, and Arya. Everyone always says she looks a lot like your mom. She wants to join the army too. It drives our parents crazy. I know she would love you. So would Bran and Rickon, they’re the youngest of the family and the sweetest boys you could ever meet. Well, Rickon is kind of wild, but he can be an angel too.”

He can’t miss the way she smiles when she talks about them. Her family. His family. He never had that, brothers and sisters.

“That sounds like a big family.”

She grins. “Yes it is. You don’t have any sibling, do you?”

“No. It’s always been just me and my parents.”

“That sounds like it could get lonely.”

In a strange déjà vu moment, his silence after this statement is followed by her hand inching closer to his on the table. When her fingers brush against his, she stops, and he gets the craziest thrill from this feather-light contact.

“I didn’t tell my dad, you know,” she says. “I didn’t tell anyone about you.”

“Why?”

“I guess, a part of me didn’t want it to be real. I knew it was true, but if I told him, if I told anyone, then it would be real. And what would that make me?”

They’re not talking about his mother anymore. It’s the other thing, the one that’s even more confusing. The part where he kissed his cousin, and she let him.

Incest. It’s such an ugly word.

This time he’s the one who takes her hand. “It’s alright Sansa. We don’t have to tell anyone. It just won’t happen again.”

The worrying clouds leave her bright blue eyes and are replaced with tears of relief. She presses both of her hands to his and lets her tears flow behind the scarlet curtain of her hair.

“Hey,” he says, lifting up her chin with his free hand. “You shouldn’t cry. It’s your birthday. Don’t be sad.”

“I’m not sad. I’m just so relieved. Do you truly mean it, Jon? Do you forgive me?”

“Of course,” he says. There’s nothing to forgive, he thinks. But the truth, the one that he hides from even himself, is that he would forgive her anything.

“Thank you,” she whispers, carrying his hand to her lips. She doesn’t kiss it, not really. She just leaves it here for a while and he can feel her warm breath against his skin.

They go back to the party after that. And he smiles at her and watches her dance and drinks. And then drinks again. When he wakes up the next day, he’s not sure how he got home.


	5. Chapter 5

Sansa is facing Jon Snow’s door once again, but this time she doesn’t hesitate before knocking. Maybe she should have, she realizes when an unfamiliar silver-haired man opens the door.

“Hello?” he says, and it sounds like a question. Before Sansa has enough time to collect herself and answer, recognition flashes on his face. “Oh wait, you’re Ygritte, right? My, you got even prettier. Come in, come in. I didn’t know you too had gotten back together. Jon,” the man’s screams toward a door, “Ygritte’s here to see you!”

Jon opens the door with a confused frown on his face which only deepens once he sees Sansa.

“Hi,” he says.

“Hi,” she answers.

“Come on in,” he says, with an eagerness to get her alone that his father clearly misinterprets, if his sly grin is any indication.

“Have fun, kids.”

“Thanks Dad,” Jon replies, without getting the blatant allusion before hurriedly closing the door.

“So…who’s Ygritte?” Sansa asks, once they’re safe from prying ears. She’s not sure she wants to know, and if Jon’s father hadn’t said she was prettier than this mysterious Ygritte, she probably wouldn’t have had the confidence to ask. She’s glad she did ask the question however when instantly a blush colours Jon’s cheek. It’s ridiculously cute. He avoids her gaze before answering.

“My ex-girlfriend. We broke up when I enlisted.”

“I’m sorry,” she says. She says that a lot lately.

“It’s fine. It was a long time ago. What are you doing here?”

“After last night, I wanted to check up on you. Make sure you got home okay. Believe it or not, I still don’t have your cell number. I didn’t think anyone else would be home at this hour. So here,” she says, handing him her phone, “give me your number, so we can avoid all this awkwardness next time.”

He enters the number quickly and hands her back the device.

“So, are you alright? You were pretty drunk when I left you.”

“I can’t remember much. But I guess so. You didn’t have to come all the way here to check up on me.”

She shrugs as casually as she can, her gaze wandering around his room. “I wanted to see how you were doing, how you felt about what we discussed last night. See if maybe we could resume the conversation?”

He sits on his bed with a sigh.

“Alright. But maybe we could do that somewhere else?” he suggests. The two of them in this room with nowhere else to sit but the bed isn’t a good idea.

“Sure. Where?”

“There’s a coffee shop a few streets down.”

They run into his father once more on their way out. “Dad, I’m going out with err Ygritte for a bit, alright?”

“Will you be back for dinner?”

“Sure. See you in a bit.”

“So, I’m Ygritte now?” Sansa asks, smirking, as he closes the front door.

“What else was I supposed to say?” he answers defensively.

She shrugs. “I’m not complaining, just saying. If that’s the role I have to play now, maybe I should research the character a little.”

“We’re not lying to them. I just went with it to get out of there faster. But we’re not going to start lying like they do. At least I won’t.”

She stares at the ground silently. He sighs. It feels like a time loop sent them back to that awful dinner. Shame, guilt, silence and a tepid milkshake between them.

“I’m sorry. Look, this is all really new and sudden. I’m still processing it. Let’s just go to the coffee shop, OK?” he says.

“OK.”

The walk is quiet. Jon’s leg hurts like hell from the excess of the night and he’s grateful to see that Sansa is too lost in her thoughts to notice.

“Your dad is like a lot older than your mom, isn’t he?” she asks after a while.

“I guess,” he answers, clearly uncomfortable with the question.

“Maybe that’s why they ran,” she theorizes. “From what I heard, she was barely eighteen when she got pregnant.”

The idea of his parents having sex is disgusting enough, the idea of his parents having statutory-rape-sex is even worse. “That would still be legal, as long as she was over sixteen.”

He’s very ashamed of himself, but he looked it up recently, after meeting a certain young redhead, but before knowing said redhead was related to him. Which makes anything that would happen between them worse than illegal. But technically legal.

“It was just an idea. I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m sorry.”

“Stop saying sorry to me. Seriously. It’s fine. From now on, please, don’t apologize to me, okay?”

“I’ll try.”

The coffee shop is nice and cosy and they find themselves a table in a corner where they can talk undisturbed.

“Are you still freaking out?” she asks.

“Yeah.”

She laughs. “Me too. And I had some more time to get used to the idea so…”

“You sure know how to cheer a guy up.”

“Sor—I mean, it’s weird. I don’t want to give you false hope of it getting any less weird because it probably won’t. You just need to get used to the idea. And that takes time.”

“So what should we do? Are you going to talk to your father?”

“Are you?” she shoots back.

“And how would that conversation go, uh? Hey mom, dad, have you been lying to me my whole life?”

“You could ask more subtle questions. About her childhood. Your family. Pretend that you’re really into genealogy or something. See if they tell you or not.”

“So we are going to lie?” he says, but this time his reluctance has diminished and he sounds more resigned than angry.

“What else can we do?”

“What about your dad?”

“My dad would rather let my mother believe that he has a mistress than tell her the truth, and there is no one on this earth he loves more than her. He’s way too stubborn to tell me anything, there’s no point in asking. But I was thinking about something else.”

“What?”

“We could do a DNA test. That would be irrefutable proof. Maybe we could confront them then.”

“How long would that take?”

“I could command it now and receive a kit in two days. Then we have to send the samples to the lab and wait for the answer. It can take up to two weeks.”

He swallows. “Alright,” he says, his grey eyes fixed on her blue one. In two weeks they would know without a doubt. There would be no going back, no false glimmer of possibility when their eyes meet.

“Then, you are OK with us keeping this a secret for now?” she asks, misinterpreting his apparent reluctance.

He swallows. He’s not sure what secrets they are trying to keep. He’s not sure how he agreed to lie when he had been so strongly against it earlier. He looks once more into her pleading blue eyes and it’s all the answer he needs. He nods.

Somehow they end up spending the rest of the afternoon together in that coffee shop. He tells her about his childhood, and all the places he visited and all the crazy people he met—the misunderstood genius artist-types filled with rock’n’roll anger and anti-establishment messages, his mother’s friends; and the eccentric scholars, the erudite stoners with strange collections and obsessions who dedicated their lives to ideas and dead people, his father’s colleagues. She tells him about her siblings, his family.

Their conversation flows so naturally. The way she looks at him when he speaks, the way she smiles when she recalls fond memories, it all feels so right. They’re just two people, getting to know each other.

He almost forgets his physical therapy appointment. He leaves abruptly, but not so fast that he misses the hint of sadness in her eyes when he tells her has to go.

It felt so nice and easy and effortless he almost missed how dangerous it was, this closeness.

///

Later that day, back in his room alone, Jon calls Sam to thank him for getting him home safely and ends up telling him everything. Everything except for the kiss. It feels so good to confide in Sam. He’s his best friend and a good listener, and it makes the crushing weight of this absurd secret seem somehow lighter.

He doesn’t know how Sansa has lasted so long without telling anyone.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to all of you for your lovely comments. To answer some of them about the cousin incest thing, my family actually has several example of first cousin marriage (guess where I'm from?) so I don't find it shocking or very scandalous. I mean I wouldn't advocate for it IRL either. Relationships are messy and complicated enough that you don't need to ad all the drama that comes with marrying a cousin (or divorcing them).
> 
> Jon calls it "worse than illegal" in this chapter, but I'm going with the idea that cousin marriage is fully legal in this modern Westeros, you just need to fill out some extra paper work.
> 
> I actually think that Sansa lying to him/not telling him they were related is worse than the cousin incest.
> 
> Anyway I hope that you enjoyed this chapter, in the next one you get to meet all of the Starks!


	6. Chapter 6

The following Sunday, the Stark family gathers to celebrate Sansa’s birthday.

Sansa usually loves family reunion, but today it’s hard for her to think of anything but Jon and the lies that permeate her family. The people she trusted the most, all liars. And she is the worst of them all, as long as she keeps this secret from her mother and siblings.

Especially her mother. Catelyn’s red hair might be up and braided into a sophisticated hairdo, and she might be wearing a beautiful dress for the occasion, but Sansa can see better than anyone what hides behind the illusion of perfection that her mother creates. The overdone concealer around her mother’s eyes hints at sleepless nights and silent tears. Her hair is styled in the Southern way, which Sansa knows her father hates, a sign of the tension they try to keep secret.

And it makes the guilt and the secrets so much heavier that she seems to be the only to notice it beside her father. Catelyn keeps her distance, her eyes are faraway but she smiles and nods at all the right places, always the Lady. It’s enough to fool Sansa’s siblings, who don’t know that they should be looking for those signs, as well as her Uncles and her Stark grand-parents and their Baratheon guests.

Because of course, it’s not a Stark family event without the Baratheons there, which makes matters even worse. Her siblings may all hate Joff, and Robb may or may not have opened a bottle of champagne to celebrate when she told him about the break up, but everyone else here is acting as if they are still together. Including Joffrey.

In the absence of her favourite uncle, Benjen, who’s still deployed somewhere classified, she’s glad for the presence of Tyrion Lannister, Joffrey’s least favourite uncle who never hesitates to put the little brat in his place.

“So did you enjoy that little party Joffrey threw for you?” her grandfather Rickard asks her at dinner.

“Yes, a lot. It was very thoughtful of Joffrey, and I’m very grateful to him,” she says, parroting politeness. When she catches Sandor Clegane’s eyes she can almost hear him say it—Little Bird—the nickname he bestowed upon her years ago for this very reason.

“You better have, considering what it cost us,” Cersei mutters. Robert’s widow is already well in her cups. She has never liked Sansa. In fact Sansa is pretty sure she doesn’t like anyone except for Joffrey and her twin brother.

There is an awkward moment of silence, where everyone pretends not to have heard her and forced smiles can be seen on a lot of faces.

“Well, wait until you see my gift, Sansa. I bet you won’t think my nephew so thoughtful then,” Tyrion says, and she’s already more grateful to him than she’s ever been toward Joffrey.

They share a look, and she hopes he can see how happy she is that he’s here.

“My gift is pretty cool too,” Robb says, “you just wait and see.” And just like that the tension is diffused and the subject changed. At least for the time being.

“So seventeen, uh? A few more years and you and Joffrey here will be giving me great-grandchildren!” her grand-father exclaims after the cake has been brought and the candles have been blown out.

Sansa freezes. The cake looked so appetizing a minute ago, but now she just wants to throw up.

“That’s really gross. And they’ve broken up!” Arya protests, and Sansa has never been prouder of her sister’s wild ways than in that moment.

“They are young. They’ve broken up for now, but they have all the time in the world to get back together,” her grandfather says, waving away Arya’s protest.

“Yes,” Joffrey concurs, “all the time in the world. Right, Sansa?” he says, taunting her.

“You’re dating my best friend,” she answers matter-of-factly.

“Now, Sansa, I thought you more mature that that,” her grandfather objects, disapproval glaring in his voice. “You cannot go around making petty remarks like that, it is not becoming of a lady.”

“Yes, grandfather. I’m sorry, it will not happen again,” she recites.

“Good. Now you have to understand that boys will be boys. It doesn’t matter in the grand scheme of things. The only thing that matters is family. And in order to preserve it, sacrifices have to be made. Let Joffrey have his freedom now, so you can have a happy marriage later.”

Across the large dining table, her ex-boyfriend is jubilating. Sansa has never been so completely humiliated. Even Cersei looks slightly embarrassed on her behalf. But no one speaks up. Except Joffrey, the only who’s enjoying this.

“I’m not sure she understands this, Mr Stark. I was not sure if I should bring this to your attention or not, out of loyalty for Sansa, but now it seems to me like it might be in her best interest.” Joffrey marks a dramatic pause, for more effect. “I’m afraid she might have bad frequentations.”

Her eyes widen. Jon, he’s going to tell them about Jon. He’s going to make her pay.

“What do you mean, Joffrey?” her father asks gravely.

“She invited this man to the party, I had never seen him before. Him and his friends—well, let’s say they didn’t look like gentlemen.”

“You wouldn’t recognize a gentleman if he was punching you in the face,” Tyrion replies.

“Don’t you talk to my son like that!” Cersei roars.

“That’s how it started with Lyanna,” her grandmother says, ruefully.

And then everyone is talking at the same time.

“Is it true, do you have a boyfriend?” Arya asks.

“Is it true?” Bran echoes.

“When can we go and play with the doggy?” Rickon enquires.

“Maybe if you talked to your son like that, I wouldn’t need to,” Tyrion says.

“You filthy little—“

“Silence,” her grandfather demands, and they all shut up at once. “Sansa, is it true?”

“That I invited a friend to my birthday? Yes, I’m afraid it is.”

Next to her, Arya scoffs at her wilfulness.

“You left the party with him!” Joffrey says accusingly.

“To get a milkshake, and then I came back. You can ask Sandor if you don’t believe me, he followed us the whole time.”

The large man nods his acquiescent. Jon may not have seen him, lurking in the shadows, but she did.

“And who is this friend? How old is he? How long have you known him?”

“He’s just a friend,” she lies softly.

“I don’t like this attitude, Sansa,” her grandfather says. “If I were you I would really think hard about my behaviour. You don’t want to end up like your aunt.”

Free and happy? Sansa thinks, maybe I do.

Her father takes her aside after the dinner. “You know you don’t have to marry him, right? You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. I would never force you.”

But if it’s true, then why didn’t he speak up before?

She doesn’t think about that too much, instead she lets herself be distracted by the pride Arya and her brothers take in her newfound defiance. After that, it’s a pretty good day. She gets a new laptop and headphones, from her parents and Robb, a Chanel purse from her grandparents, a Cartier watch from her uncle Brandon who is always late, a lot of hugs from Rickon and Bran who are young enough to still get away with it; and from Tyrion a rare first edition of her favourite book, _Little Princess_ , with beautiful illustrations.

But as far as she’s concerned, Arya’s gift is the best. She gets her sister ten different nail polishes, all with scandalous names like _Size Matters_ and _Red As Fuck_. It’s the first time the younger girl gets her a gift so girly and so Sansa. The colours are crazy and amazing and she immediately paints her nails, one in every colour. She can’t decide if her favourite is the pale pink of _Bubblegum Bitch_ or the incomprehensible rainbow of _Unicorn Pee_ , but she does manage to convince Arya to let her do her nails—a first—and they argue about the colour for hours like they’re still kids and it’s the best.

“So tell me about your new boyfriend,” Arya asks, squirming in her seat as her sister paints her nail in _As Black As Your Heart_.

“He really isn’t my boyfriend.”

“But he’s not just a friend,” Arya summarizes, because she’s always been way more perceptive than people give her credit for.

“It’s complicated. But it’s not what Joffrey thinks at all. I’ll tell you soon. I really want you to meet him.”

It hurts not to be able to tell her the truth about Jon, about their family, particularly when they’re close like that, behaving like sisters once again. But she can’t tell her, not yet. Arya can keep a secret, but only when she wants to. And Sansa knows this isn’t something she would want them to keep to themselves.

“What is he like?” Arya asks after examining her sister intently.

“He’s great. He’s a lot like dad. And you,” she says, choosing her words carefully. “He’s in the army.”

She could see the sparks of interest light up Arya’s grey eyes, so alike Jon’s, and she smiled. After she’s done with her sister nails, she paints Bran’s and Rickon’s making them all giggles and Robb even lets her do a few of his.

For a little while, everything is perfect. There is no lie or secret, just family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all of your comments :) <3
> 
> I couldn't help but include a lot of Stark siblings fluffiness at the end. I hope you like it :)


	7. Chapter 7

 

“Sansa,” her father calls, “are you the one who took the photo album from my office?”

She rushes to open her bedroom door. “Hi dad. Yes, sorry. It was me.”

“It’s fine. You’re welcome to take it, you just have to put it back when you’re done. Why the sudden interest?”

It’s not really sudden. Sansa has always been the one most into family and remembrance out of all the Stark kids. The way he says it makes her wonder if maybe he suspects she knows.

“I like to look at them from time to time, you know. I was looking at you and mom’s wedding picture the other day and I noticed that Lyanna wasn’t in them, I thought she only died after. It got me thinking about her, so I looked up more pictures.”

“She was. Alive I mean. She was at the wedding too, but she got in a fight with your granddad before the pictures and left.”

“I’m sorry. It wasn’t nice of them, to fight on your wedding day.”

“Your mom was quite upset about it,” he confesses. “It was a complicated and difficult situation.”

“What did they fight about?”

He sighs. “Your grandfather and your aunt Lyanna had very different views on almost everything and quite animated temperaments, so they never had a shortage of reasons to fight. But mostly, it was about her future, her life style, and her frequentations.”

“Was she really that bad? I really can’t imagine your sister being a delinquent, dad.”

“You’re a smart girl, Sansa. Have I ever told you that?”

“Once or twice.”

“Maybe too smart for your own good. No, I wouldn’t say that Lyanna was ever a delinquent. She had ideas and aspirations that didn’t sit well with your grandfather.”

“Like what?”

“Feminism, political activism, those kind of things. Frankly it all seems so silly now, I can barely remember most of it. I wish it were the same for your grandfather.” He sighs, and for a moment, he looks old and weary. “Just bring the album back when you’re done, alright?”

“Yes, dad,” she answers as he leaves and closes the door.

She digs through the album, sprawled on her bed, until she finds that wedding picture once more. She takes a picture and sends it to Jon with the newfound knowledge she just gleaned. Her father looks the same as ever, with his long and serious face. Her mother is radiant in her beautiful wedding dress, her hair is done in an elaborated chignon that makes her look like a princess. Behind them, all four of Sansa’s grandparents are aligned, Tully’s and Stark’s easy to identify.

At her father’s side is his best man, Robert Baratheon, the man he would name his first son after, a drink in hand. Further on the left are his brothers, Ben and Brandon, both second to Ned’s friend and brother in arms. On her mother’s side, her aunt Lysa and her uncle Petyr are both smiling their usual eerie smiles. Just seeing their faces makes her skin crawl. She wants to tear out their serpents’ mouths—filled with poisonous fangs and split lying tongues—so she covers them up with another one of the photographs littering her bed.

Her grandfather Rick doesn’t look disturbed in the least by the fight that had just taken place and was violent enough to prompt his daughter to leave. But none of the smiles ring true either. The worst of them might be Robert, who looks as drunk—but not yet as fat—as in most of Sansa’s memories. Joff and his father couldn’t look more dissimilar, but there is something in the cruel smile Robert sports in this picture that reminds Sansa of his son.

She puts the picture aside, and sits up. The last thing she needs is to think about Joffrey right now. She’s about to check her phone for an answer from Jon when it rings. It’s him.

“Hi,” she says, lying back on her bed.

“Hi,” he answers, and it’s nice to hear his voice, so nice.

“Did you get the picture I sent you?”

“Yes. So those are my grand-parents, uh? And my uncles. It’s weird, I thought my mom only had three brothers.”

“She does, the one standing right next to my father is his best friend, Robert Baratheon.”

“Joffrey’s father?”

“Yes.”

“Funny. He looks a bit familiar.”

“Well, he was pretty well-known. He got a lot of media attention. His death was all the local newspapers talked about for months.”

“When did he died?”

“Two years ago. That would have been just around the time you moved here, right?”

“Two years ago?” he repeat incredulously. “You said Joffrey became an asshole after his dad’s death, and you stayed with him for two more years in spite of it?”

Sansa can feel her cheeks turning crimson. She gets enough crap about this from Arya and Robb—and from herself—she doesn’t need Jon to judge her as well.

“Is that really what we’re talking about? Because I know very well staying with him was a mistake and that I shouldn’t have encouraged his behaviour, you don’t have to tell me. But before judging me, you should consider the fact that we were both barely fifteen when it happened. And until recently I excused his actions as part of his grieving process. He’s good at it too, you know, whenever he makes a bad decision, drinks too much or gets in troubles at school, he plays the my-father-died-a-tragic-and-untimely-death card. And I fell for it many times,” she says finishing her rant with a sigh. “And now you know what a silly girl I am.”

“I don’t think it’s silly. Do you remember what I told you about your parents?”

“What?” They’ve talked about so many things in the last couples of days, since she told him truth, that she’s not sure what’s he’s getting at.

“There is nothing wrong with believing the best about the people you love.”

“I never loved Joffrey,” she says quietly. “I used to think that we would get married and have beautiful blond babies, but that wasn’t love. We were never even truly friends.”

“And yet you chose to believe the best of him.”

“How naïve of me.”

“You’re a good person, Sansa Stark. Don’t try to tell yourself otherwise.”

In the silence that follows, his words echo through her mind, and she can feel their weight. If she closes her eyes, she can feel Jon staring right into her soul, piercing every single one of her walls. She holds on to the phone a little tighter.

“I don’t want to talk about Joffrey anymore,” she says. But they both know that they’ve already stopped talking about him and broached onto a familiar yet more dangerous topic.

“When will you get the results from the lab?” he asks, changing the subject abruptly.

To Sansa, it’s like a cold shower and maybe it’s exactly what she needs. “They’ve agreed to email me the results instead of sending it through the mail. So I should have them in two or three days from now.”

“And then we’ll know?”

“We’ll know.”

He sighs. “Alright then, only three more days.”

 They've agreed not to see each other until they get the results. And she should probably hang up now, try to keep her distance from him so the results will be easier to digest. But there is a longing and a tiredness in his voice. So instead of saying goodbye she finds herself asking:*

"How was your day?"

They're still talking when her mother calls for dinner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it tool me so long and thanks for the support and reviews for last chapter <3 They always make my day. I know it's not the usual portrayal of the Starks, and there are a little more information about that in this chapter, I really enjoyed how you guys were rightfully grossed out by the behaviour of Grandpa Stark.  
> This is pretty much a fluff chapter and not much happen but it felt necessary to the progression of the story.


	8. Chapter 8

Asking his mother about her past is way harder than Sansa made it sound. Mostly because Jon can’t seem to work it casually into the conversation.

“You can do it, Jon,” Sansa insists. They’re at the coffee shop near his house. They’ve been meeting here almost every day after she’s done with school.

 “But I can’t. Every time I try, I just freeze. I can’t be casual about it.”

“Then don’t be!”

“What do you mean?” he asks. He thought this plan was all about being subtle to obtain information.

She thinks for a bit, he likes watching her think. She gets that focused, intent look in her eyes and the cutest little frown above them.

“After your injury, did you have to attend mandatory therapy sessions?”

“You mean like a shrink? Yeah, why?”

“Do you still have them?”

He doesn’t really like talking about it, but he nods all the same. “Every once in a while.”

“Then uses that! Tell them your therapist asked you about your family, and you realized how little you know about them, and about yourself and that you feel learning more about it would really help you get better.”

He looks at her, dubitatively. “You think it would work?”

“Of course. No mother could resist that. Not if it’s in the best interest of her son.”

So that’s what he tries next.

“My shrink really believes it would help and I think so to,” he says, as he finishes the little speech Sansa prepared for him.

Now that he knows to look for them, he can’t miss the signs of guilt in his parents strained and uncomfortable smiles. His father, always the scholar, starts a forty-five minutes lecture about his side of the family and how his Targaryen ancestors came to this land after that weird natural disaster and Jon listens patiently and pretends to take notes until he can’t take it anymore.

“And what about you, mom?”

“Oh, there’s not much to say, honey. My parents died when I was about your age. We were never close. You and your father are my only family.”

The lies flow so seamlessly, like they have a thousand times, and it makes Jon want to scream.

“I know that,” he says instead, as calmly as he can. “But I want to know more. Where did you grow up exactly? Or where are they buried? What kind of people were they? What was your childhood like?”

She looks startled by his questions, and looks at his father for help.

“I grew up on a farm, like I’ve told you already. It was not too far from here actually. And my parents—Jon, you have to understand that my father wasn’t a good man. We fought a lot, and the life he led…it wasn’t an honest life. It’s a difficult subject for me.”

“Was he a criminal?” he asks, confused.

“In a way. He thought he was above the law. Anyway, I’m not sure where they’re buried. I never went to see their graves, if you want to know the truth. I’ll look it up, if you really want to know.”

“I really want to know,” he says, his eyes fixed on hers for any clue any hint. He doesn’t get why she’s still lying. She looks like she might crack, when his father swoops in and diffuse the tension with another half hour long speech about the legends and literature of Valyria.

“A criminal?” Sansa repeats, surprised. They’re back in the coffee shop, and her phone is on the table between them as they await the DNA results, which they should receive any minute now.

“That’s what she said. I know she was lying but there seemed to be something true about that.”

He waits for her to call him an idiot or remind him that they can’t trust anything his mother say, but she doesn’t, she just thinks.

“Well, I guess it wouldn’t be the craziest thing. I mean, if you had told me that three months ago, I would never have believed it, but now? It doesn’t seem that impossible. He was CEO of Stark Industry for a long time and well they do create weapons among other things, so criminal behaviour doesn’t seem that out of the way. Maybe he was corrupt? Maybe he sold weapons to criminals? Or he was involved in some kind of cover-up?”

“Maybe.”

He doesn’t think that’s it, it sounded way worse, and more personal than taking a few bribes. But he’s too relieved that she doesn’t dismiss the possibility to argue about that now.

“I thought about something else too. I can’t really ask my mom about Lyanna, she’s way too upset and sensitive right now, I can’t interrogate her about her wedding day, but I could ask her sister. My aunt Lysa. She was the maid of honour, so she probably witnessed the whole thing. I don’t talk to her much but there’s only three things she loves in this world, her husband, attention and gossiping so it could work.”

Lysa had married young a very rich and very old man. He died a few years into their marriage, and she had quickly remarried his financial advisor and her childhood friend, Petyr Baelish.

“That sounds like a good idea,” he says, but his eyes are riveted to the phone in front of him, and all he can hear are the second ticking away.

It is a good idea, but not one she wants to resort too. Sansa has an irrational hatred of her aunt. It’s not something she wants to think about. Instead she focuses on the man facing her.

“Jon,” she calls softly.

He looks up and blushes under the tenderness of her gaze.

“If you stare at it like that, it will be too shy to ring,” she teases.

And it works. All his attention is on her now, when suddenly the alert announcing a new email sounds.

This is it. The phone is in her hands, and her eyes are on the screen, but he can’t read her expression.

“What does it say?” he asks, trying his best not to choke.

She smiles a charming polite smile that doesn’t quite ring true. “You’re my cousin. I was right.”

Neither of them had much doubt left, but this is proof—solid, irrefutable proof.

So why doesn’t he feel any different? She’s his cousin. It should make the attraction go away, shouldn’t it?

And yet, when he looks into her sky blue eyes, he still feel the same warmth, the same need. All he wants is to get closer. His desire must be quite transparent because she blushes under his gaze, and he has to look away to regain his composure.

“What do we do now?” he asks.

“I think I should tell my mother,” she says grimly.

“Wait, before we tell anyone else, I really want to give another chance to my mom to come forward. To tell us the whole story.”

She bites her lips. “OK, but I can’t wait long.”

“Then should we confront her?” he asks, anxious.

“I have an idea. It’s a bit of a soap opera move, but it could work.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's official! Not that there was much doubt left. At least know Jon knows one thing, and he's about to learn more.
> 
> For those of you who read the first chapter of my Pretend AU, I'll write a follow up to the first chapter since many of you seem interested :) but first I'm finishing the second one (a mirror version type of thing).


	9. Chapter 9

 

///

This idea is completely mental and ridiculous, but Jon goes along with it anyway, because it’s Sansa’s idea.

When she knocks on the Snow’s front door, Jon and her are both ready for the storm slowly brewing this time. He answers almost immediately. He may have been ready for the family drama about to unfold, but he wasn’t quite ready for that. His jaw drops as he takes in her appearance and Sansa can’t help but smile.

“Hi,” she says. It may be a fake date but that doesn’t mean she shouldn’t dress to impress.

“Hi,” he says. He’s wearing his usual jeans and t-shirt, but she doesn’t mind. It fits him well. No matter what he wears his appearance affects her in the same way.

“Are you ready to go?” she asks just like they rehearsed.

“Almost, just let me grab my coat. Do you want to come in for a minute? I know you want to meet my parents.”

“Sure that would be great.”

She follows him into the living-room where his parents are doing their best to pretend that they were just reading and not eavesdropping on their adult son. Seeing Lyanna in the flesh is like a punch to the stomach for Sansa. She has only seen pictures of her aunt before, and even thought she has known for weeks now that it was a lie, she has thought her dead for years.

Jon’s arm around her helps sooth her shock, and she hopes it pass for the simple anxiety that could be expected of a young woman meeting her new boyfriend’s parents for the first time.

“Hello, Mr and Mrs Snow.”

“Mom, Dad,” Jon says, very formal. “This is my new girlfriend, Sansa Stark.”

It’s a beautiful spectacle to watch his mother’s mouth fall and her whole composure explode. His father drops the book he was pretending to read.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Sansa says, as polite as ever. “Jon told me a lot about you.”

“Well we should go now, if we don’t want to miss the movie. Goodnight, don’t wait up for me,” Jon declares before they have the time to respond.

Next thing she knows, they’re running and laughing down the street to their favourite coffee shop, proud of themselves and of the cruel little trick they played. But mostly, it feels incredibly liberating to let them deal with their secret for a change.

Sansa can’t remember the last time she ran like that, and her dress wasn’t really made to run in, but she doesn’t care. She feels free and happy, and with Jon’s hand in hers, she feels invincible. So she just keeps laughing, until she laughs so hard she falls, and even that’s okay because Jon is here to catch her.

“Are you alright?” he asks, still smiling and breathless and beautiful. He’s holding her close, and she’s pretty sure that’s the only reason why the world is spinning, so she nods, and moves to hug him closer. She can feel his chest rise and fall erratically as he catches his breath, and his shattering laughter shaking through his whole body and hers until they’re all jumbled up together, so much so that she’s not sure whether it’s him or her that makes the first move.

The only thing she is sure of is the feeling of his lips against hers, of their mouths devouring each other with an all-consuming hunger, of their bodies coming together with their shared desire, right there on the street.

“Get a room,” a stranger barks at them as he passes briskly next to them.

They break apart at this rude call back to reality and Sansa prepares her most reassuring smile as she raises her eyes to meet Jon’s gaze. But there is none of the anxiety or guilt she expected there. He only smiles, and it’s more brilliant than any earth-shattering kiss.

“Let’s go inside,” he says and leads her into the coffee shop.

They sit at their favourite table, side by side this time, and watch as their respective phones blow up under the unanswered calls from their respective parents.

///

They walk back to his house, hand in hand, an hour later and there is this door yet again. This time Sansa doesn’t have to knock. It opens itself to reveal a distraught Lyanna, she looks ready to speak but when her eyes fall onto their linked hands she stays silent. By her side is her brother.

“We know. We’ve known for a while now. Are you finally ready to tell us the truth?” Jon says quietly. Even though his words are soft, there is an undercurrent of threat here.

It’s thrilling how calm and collected he is, how much power he can infuse to a few words. Sansa can see the man he must have been on the battlefield and it makes her heart swell.

Opposite them, his mother nods. “Come in,” she says. Her tone is weary and her eyes are red.

It’s a strange sort of family reunion, she thinks as they all sit in living-room; Lyanna on the couch between her brother and husband, and Sansa and Jon in the two armchairs opposite them. It feels like they’ve been called into the principal’s office. There is no joy or effusion. The very air in the room is poisoned by the lies they’re all so tired of.

“I’m sorry I lied to you Jon,” she says, and she’s crying but she doesn’t stop. “But I was only trying to protect you, to protect us. Our family.”

Rhaegar is holding her left hand, and Ned the right.

“When I was about Sansa’s age, I was engaged against my will to a man named Robert Baratheon. He was a friend of my brothers and one of my father’s business partners. He was a powerful man from a powerful family. I didn’t love him, never did, and I could barely stand to be in the same room as he was, but for some reason he was very much in love with me, or obsessed might be a better word for it.

Anyway, around this time I also met your father. He was older and recently divorced at the time (something your grandparents didn’t approve of) but we fell in love, no matter how strange it might seem. That didn’t go over too well. My already rocky relationship with my parents became worse and Robert’s obsession and jealousy as well. When he found out about him, he had your father discharged from the army dishonourably and beat up.

It sounds ridiculous and disproportionate now, but at the time it was terrifying. And when Robert realized this wasn’t enough to scare away your father, he came after me. I had no one to turn to. My brothers were all deployed, and my parents had already turned me away because of my refusal to marry Robert, they could see no fault in him. I had no choice but to run, and Rhaegar decided to follow me.

What I didn’t expect was that Robert would follow us, try to track us down. We couldn’t just leave we had to disappear. And then I found out that I was pregnant with you, and—“

Emotion strangles her voice, and her husband comes to her rescue, as she hides her tears behind her hand.

“We knew we had to protect you from him, Jon. We couldn’t raise you like that, with this monster’s shadow always just one step behind us. So we faked your mother’s death. We changed our names. We disappeared without a trace. But even then we had to be cautious, he never stopped looking.”

“Did you know? All this time, did you know?” Sansa asks her father, trembling.

“What? No, I only found out she was alive after his death—“

“That’s not what I’m asking you. Did you know, about Robert?”

She feels like there is a lot that Lyanna is leaving out of the story here, editing it for her son’s benefit. What did he do to her? This woman who is her flesh and blood, and looks so much like her little sister. And all this time, this man was dining in her house, at her father’s side. If he wasn’t dead he would probably have been at her birthday too.

“No,” he says, and she wants to believe him because the father who raised her is no liar, he’s the most honest and kind man she knows—it’s just that it’s hard to trust him after all of this. “No, Sansa, I swear to you, I never knew. I suspected some. I knew he wasn’t a good man in the end, but I always thought that that was because of Lyanna’s death. I never thought it could be the opposite, that he could be the cause of all this mess.”

“Jon,” Lyanna says, despair cutting through her voice like diamonds, “say something, please.”

Sansa turns her head towards him. She got so wrapped up in the story and her own emotions that she almost forgot he was here. His fists are clenched by his sides, and his face is a mask beginning to crumble under the pressure. His lips in thin line, he swallows.

“When were you going to tell me?”

“Soon, we were going to tell all of you soon,” she swears but it’s not enough.

“And when is that, mom? Uh? Because if Sansa hadn’t told me, I wouldn’t know now, would I? So I ask again, when were you going to stop lying to me? Or was that just never part of the plan? I’m nineteen, mom, for fuck’s sake. I’m old enough to vote and to fight in a war, both of which I did by the way, but you still didn’t trust me enough to tell me the truth!”

He’s angrier than Sansa has ever seen him. His mother is crying silently on the couch, her husband’s arm is around her but she looks defenceless and alone.

“Don’t talk to your mother like that, Jon. We made this decision together, so don’t take it out on her,” Ned says gravely.

“Why? Why wouldn’t you tell us? Why let mother think that you’re having an affair? Robert is dead, there is no more reasons to hide,” Sansa points out, a little frantic. Every answer creates two more questions.

“I came back here thinking that as well, after his death, but it turns out that he left an important part of his fortune to me, and a sizeable percentage of it to the person that would find me.”

“Even dead the bastard can’t leave us alone,” Rhaegar mutters.

“He never believed I was dead, and he came close to finding me on a few occasions, but no one else believed it until now.”

“Cersei,” Sansa whispers, she remembered bits of overheard conversation at Joffrey’s house, back when she used to visit him every day after his father’s death. “The bitch is back,” she had heard the blond woman say.

Ned nods. “She made sure to keep it a secret. Only those present during the reading of the will know about it. And not all of them take it as seriously as she does. They will never prove it, but she is the one who killed Robert, Sansa. This was no hunting accident. We have to take the threat she pauses very seriously.”

“Can’t you just refuse the money?” Jon asks.

“I could but I would need first to prove that I’m alive and truly who I claim to be, since I have been a missing person for almost twenty years. That would take weeks, even months until the legal proceedings are done so that I can refute my claim to the inheritance. I can’t take that risk. Your uncle has been talking on my behalf to the DA’s office and the police to try and find a way out of this.”

“They’re close to arresting the Lannister woman and her brother,” Ned explains. “But this has to stay a secret until they have enough evidence to do it. You cannot tell your mother Sansa, she’s too passionate to be able to keep up appearances if she knew. If Cersei or Joffrey start suspecting anything…”

“Joffrey too?” his daughter asks, scared of the answer she knows is coming.

“Yes. I’m sorry, Sansa, but it has become quite clear during the investigation that he has been involved in his family’s most reprehensible activities since his father’s death. I know you cared for him and it must be quite shocking.”

“No. I mean, it is but that’s not the problem,” she says, looking anxiously at Jon. “Joffrey saw us together, dad. At my party. He saw Jon.”

Her father stays perfectly silent and still as his face falls. She admires that even this dire circumstance he has the self-restraint not to swear in front of his daughter.

“Is it truly that bad?” Rhaegar asks, disconcerted. “You didn’t tell him the truth, did you?” he asks Sansa.

“No, but he knows I lied. I’m bad at it. He thought Jon was my boyfriend or something. He’s delusional. And very jealous. It’s just as bad as if he suspected the truth.’


End file.
